Grown Man and a Mage
by Living Dead Girl 07
Summary: Anders finds that leaving his manifestos lying about can have serious consequences. A fill for the meme.
1. Chapter 1

Another night at the Hanged Man, another night of Anders losing spectacularly at Wicked Grace. Justice wouldn't let him cheat anymore, but Varric and Isabela had no such scruples. He knew they would, more often than not, find a way to give him back his money, but it was still somewhat frustrating to never win. Ever. He was so focused on trying to make a good hand out of what he had been given that he didn't notice an addition to their small party, at least, not until a flying bundle of doom hit him in the back of the head.

He whirled around in his seat to see his attacker, and came face-to-face with a pissed off Hawke, who then proceeded to throw another cloth-covered square projectile at his head.

"Hawke!" he yelled, practically diving out of his seat to avoid being hit. "What in the Void are you doing?"

Hawke elected not to answer, and again threw...something at him. Ducking under the table, he seized one of the fallen parcels. Upon inspection, it proved to be a copy of his manifesto stuffed into a dirty sock, _his_ dirty sock, it seemed. Above him, Isabela and Varric were laughing hysterically as Hawke yelled at him.

"Fifteen copies, Anders!" she shouted at him, lobbing another at his head when he dared to peek out of his refuge. "Fifteen copies of this damnable thing stuffed everywhere in the bedroom! And when I finally managed to ferret them all out, do you know what happened?"

Anders had crawled out on the other side of the table, hopefully safe with it between himself and Hawke.

"Love, I'm-" He was cut off by another flying copy of his manifesto. Maker, did she bring all fifteen?

"Shut up! I tripped over a pile of _your_ dirty socks! I almost broke my neck, Anders!" She started throwing the copies at him again, and yep, he could see that she had a veritable stack of them next to her.

Anders was running around Varric's suite; dodging incoming manifestos while trying to get his irate lover was no mean feat, after all. He finally managed it, though, grabbing her arms to keep her from launching something else at his head...or hitting him.

"Love, I'm sorry," he told her, refusing to quail under the force of her glare. "I'll go home and clean them all up, ok?"

"You're damned right, you will!" she stated, pulling her arms from his grasp and marching down the stairs and out of the Hanged Man.

Anders sighed, running a hand over in face. Behind him, the raucous laughter had calmed somewhat, although Isabela was still giggling like an idiot. Varric walked up to him, still chuckling, the bastard, and put a hand on his arm.

"Fearless Leader's in a bit of a mood, huh?" he asked, giving Anders a consoling pat. "You'd better get going, Blondie. I don't envy what waits for you if you keep her waiting."

With a long-suffering sigh, Anders waved farewell to his companions and headed out of the tavern.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking a deep breath, Anders pushed open the door to Hawke's-_their_-bedroom. At least, he _hoped_ it was still his bedroom. The sofa in the study gave him an awful crick in his neck. He immediately saw that the remaining copies of his manifesto had been given to Parth as chew toys. The mabari was lying in a pile of shredded parchment and wool happily gnawing a sock-covered copy into slobbery bits. Hawke was nowhere to been found, but the steam wafting out of the adjoining bathing chambers gave him an idea. He wasn't too terribly upset that Hawke had destroyed his work-he had, at least, another ten copies in the study, but Anders cringed, knowing he would have to.._.touch_ the sopping, drool-sodden mess that had been his manifesto.

Bribing Parth to relinquish his prize with a bit of ham from the kitchens and shooing the hound out of the bedroom, Anders surveyed the bedroom in silent disgust. With a sigh, he began gathering up the mangled mess and throwing it into the fireplace. Once that was done, he double-checked the room for copies she hadn't found and any dirty laundry. Task complete, he washed his hands in the basin by the window, stripped off his coat, tunic, and boots (carefully placing them in their proper places; he wasn't suicidal, after all), and walked into the bathing chamber.

Hawke was lounging in the copper basin, skin damp and pink and oh-so-very appealing. She looked up when he entered, before turning her nose up at him with a small "hmph!"

Anders knelt beside the tub, adopting a suitably chastised look.

"I'm so sorry, love."

"And?" She still wouldn't look at him.

"And it was stupid and selfish of me to leave my things scattered about. You could've been hurt."

"And?"

"And it'll never happen again." Anders was struggling not to roll his eyes at the injured air she put on. "Let me make it up to you?"

She glanced down at him, eyes lingering briefly on his bare chest, before she nodded. Anders fetched her towel while she stepped out of the tub. Quickly drying her off, Anders scooped her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and laying her on the bed.

Positioning himself by her feet, he began to thoroughly kiss, lick, and nip his way up each leg, making sure to pay extra attention to the inside of her ankles and the backs of her knees. He lightly kissed the flesh spanning between her hip bones, skirting lightly over where she most wanted his touch. She huffed and lightly bucked her hips upward in impatience, prompting him to chuckle lightly and grasp her hips in his strong hands.

"Patience, love," he whispered, sliding his way up her body.

"Hmph. I thought you were _supposed_ to be earning my forgiveness. You won't get it by being a bloody tease."

"Oh, a tease, am I?" he laughed, bringing his body in line with hers but not touching it.

"Yes, a horrible, horrible—oh!" she gasped as he brought his head down to suck on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her hips wriggled in his grasp, desperately seeking friction. Anders kept his grasp firm, however, alternately nipping the skin within his mouth and soothing it with long laves of his tongue.

Pulling his mouth away from her neck, Anders moved his attention to her wonderful breasts, pulling a rosy nipple into his mouth and sucking on it the way he knew she loved. Hawke whined, writhing in his hold, hands scrabbling to try and remove his trousers.

"Anders—love—please!"

He hummed around the bud in his mouth, a moan spilling forth from Hawke's lips. He dislodged himself with a pop, raising his head to smirk at his love.

"I'm sorry, love, did you say something?"

Hawke growled in frustration. "Clothes—off—now!"

Anders chuckled, releasing her hips to comply. "Why, yes ma'am."

He was rock hard, his cock weeping precome. He lined himself up, teasing them both by rubbing the swollen head against her opening. Her hips moved against his, trying to force him in. Finally, he had had enough teasing, sliding into her in one smooth stroke. They both moaned at the sensation, her sheath stretched wide around him, hot and wet as molten rock and tight as a vise. Anders tried to hold himself there, to savor that wonderful moment, but Hawke's hips snapped against his and he was lost.

Anders thrust into her, lowering himself flush with her body and reaching up under her shoulders to bring her down on his cock with each snap of his hips. Hawke was moaning, unable to move under the onslaught of his passion. Instead, she circled her hips, slow and undulating, sending sparks of electricity down his spine to settle in the base of his abdomen. He didn't want this to be fast—he wanted to draw it out, make it good for Hawke, like she deserved, but her pleas of "more" and "harder" spurred him on until he was fucking her into the mattress.

Feeling his fast approaching release, Anders snaked one hand down to their joining, finding that glistening pearl and rubbing. Hawke screamed her release, her cunt spasming around him and prompting his own orgasm.

He barely managed to avoid collapsing on top of her, instead rolling off to the side, each fighting to catch their breath.

"So," he panted, mustering the energy to turn his head towards her, "am I forgiven?"

She laughed breathlessly. "After that performance, and the inevitable stories Varric and Isabela will be writing after tonight's show at the Hanged Man, I'd say so."

He groaned at the mention of Varric and Isabela. Void take them both, and their "friend fiction." Hawke snuggled up to him, head tucked under his chin, Anders managed to fling the blankets over both of them.

As he was drifting off into blissful post-coital sleep, Hawke whispered his name."

"Yes love?" he whispered back.

"You threw your trousers on the floor."

Anders groaned.


End file.
